When conversations
between us went sour
or if they were
muted by teen-aged
"I think I'm grown"
attitudes and
runnin'-the-streets
rebellion
she would find the
time to compose a
"mother knows best"
letter and leave it
in those places around
the house where she
knew I'd be...

I dreaded them,
I absolutely deplored
reading them

Maybe I really knew
what she was sayin'
was going to be a
repeat of what I was
trying to avoid hearing
from her... and, besides
I already knew she
was right! I was just
mannish and didn't
listen most of the time.

These letters would
have a way of
penetrating through my
eardrums
making there way down
through to the
very core of my
being ~~

they always started with

Dear Dawn

as though she was
writing to a close friend
and not her daughter...

Funny, now that I am
older, I reflect on why
I thought she was
appealing to me in
this way-- soft & serene

In her letters
she came across with
a unique tone
...it was that of a
mother who was not
trying to be overbearing
nor threatening...
instead she'd say
words that read
with 'care' and
'concern'

I now can appreciate
that I had a mother
who cared so much--
so much
that she wasn't going
to let our
mom and daughter
relationship go astray

And now that
she's gone I can
only recall the
firmness that melted
in her voice as the
ink lifted off of
the page
when
I would open the
envelope
and begin to read
just what mom
had to say--

Dear Dawn

Her words held
me hostage with
a subtle sigh
... and there was
that "momma language"
that would beckon
me to always
"do right"